Lothlorien
by R Reich
Summary: Slash. Part 1/? of the first story of the 'Requiem for a Dream' trilogy. The Fellowship arrives in Lothlorien and Legolas has a run in with Haldir. Why is this Elf so prickly? What has he got to hide? (Tolkien universe/movieverse xover)
1. Intro

Title: The Requiem for a Dream Trilogy - Lothlórien  
  
Author: LuxAeterna (angelcat@netconnect.com.au for feedback)  
  
Rating: up to R  
  
Status: Ongoing  
  
Fandom: Lord of the Rings (set in combination Tolkien's Universe and Wacko PJ's Universe)  
  
Disclaimer: The characters belong to the Tolkien Estate and not me. Thought if they did, who knows what shenanigans I'd get up to with them, so it's probably better that I don't have ownership of them. Though it would be much fun, I can't deny that. Anyway, not mine, never will be. :/  
  
Authors note: This is my first Lord of the Rings fanfiction. And I'm not going to get all sooky and cry if you flame me either. Just make it intelligent, that's all I ask! 


	2. Part 1

The Requiem for a Dream Trilogy  
Lothlórien  
  
'Legolas was away much among the Galadhrim, and after the first night he did not sleep with the companions, though he returned to talk and eat with them. Often he took Gimli with him when he went abroad in the land, and the others wondered at this change.'  
  
- Lord of the Rings: Fellowship of the Ring (p471), J.R.R. Tolkien  
  
Part 1  
  
Wandering away from my friends, I found myself somewhere deep in the Golden Woods of Lothlórien, far from the city of the Elves. I knew I should not be there - even I, a Prince of Mirkwood, was not permitted to wander freely the home of my kinfolk. Why I chose to escape deep into the forests of Lórien, I do not know. Maybe it was that I had to be alone in and with my grief. Mourning for Mithrandir was something I wished to do away from my companions. To see their grief served only to compound my own.  
  
I was not one given lightly to break basic precepts - especially not ones laid down by my kind no matter how far removed we were - but this time, this once, I could not help myself - or even bring myself to care. With the lament for our dearly departed, valiant leader still ringing in my ears and a heavy weight in my heart, I stole away from my companions into the shifting shadows beneath the towering trees.  
  
It wasn't until I came across him that I realised I had been actively seeking him out, even though I was not conscious of it at the time. Somehow my senses betrayed my chaotic thoughts, and registering the faintest hint of his passing, had attuned themselves to his track, leading me to unknowingly stalk him to this location deep in the Golden Wood.  
  
The faintest crack of a twig behind me - deliberately broken, that I know - was my first and only warning. My hand went up and my fingers passed smoothly though empty air where normally they would grasp fletching. I felt the metal tip of an arrow touch lightly against my neck. 'The Lady asked for you not to leave your companions this night,' there was a brief pause, 'yet here you are, far from them and stalking your kin as if disobeying the Lady of the Woods meant nothing to you.' I tensed. I would recognise that voice anywhere.  
  
Yet.  
  
When I was permitted to slowly turn around I was startled, for it was not the Elf I had expected it to be. Rúmil of Lórien stared coldly down the shaft of the arrow he had aimed at me. 'I suggest that you leave off your clumsy tracking of my brother, and return to your companions. No doubt they are wondering where you have gone.'  
  
My back straightened indignantly at his words. Clumsy tracking? I was one of the best trackers in Mirkwood - if not *the* best!  
  
A flicker of movement teased the corner of my eye and I shifted slightly. Orophin glided silently out of the trees. 'I told you there would be trouble with this one, Rúmil,' he said in a tone laced with resigned, yet somewhat malicious amusement. 'One day you will learn that I *am* always right.' His tone became tinged with curiosity. 'Although I must admit, I *am* curious as to why a Mirkwood Elf would seek to lose himself in the Golden Wood, particularly on this night. In these troubled times who could know just what might happen to someone wandering around in an unfamiliar land.'  
  
'Are you threatening me?' I retorted sharply.  
  
'And if we were?' Orophin looked at me, one delicate brow arched.  
  
With Rúmil's arrow still pointed at my throat I wisely chose not to push the point.  
  
'Leave off, my brothers,' a third voice spoke. The voice belonged to the one I had been unconsciously seeking, the one I had initially believed Rúmil to be. 'He means me no harm.' A shadow amidst other shadows, his shadow-grey cloak blended with the darkness beneath the trees so well that even with keen Elf-sight I had trouble picking him out. 'Leave off,' he repeated, 'I will guide him back to his companions.'  
  
Rúmil slowly lowered his arrow and I felt the tenseness in my body ease. It was never a comfortable thing to have an arrow aimed in your direction.  
  
'Is this wise?' Orophin questioned. His gaze flicked from the newcomer to Rúmil and I noted the way his eyes narrowed almost imperceptibly, as in an unspoken communication had passed between them. Given the abilities of our kind - as evinced by the Lady Galadriel - I would not have been surprised if it had so.  
  
'Leave us, Orophin, please.'  
  
With a reluctant backwards look from Orophin, the two guardians of the Woods melted back into the darkness. He who had called his brothers off stepped out from the shadows and into the dim light of the clearing.  
  
Upon first meeting Haldir of the Galadhrim at the borders of the Golden Wood, I had been immediately struck by his sheer arrogance. His haughtiness and denigration of my companions had failed entirely to endear him to me in the slightest. Even his welcome to me as one of his kinfolk from the woodland realm had been cold and sneering. Yet it struck me that this Elf seemed to be someone completely removed from he who had met with and forbid us entry at the forest boundary.  
  
'Haldir of Lórien,' I greeted him somewhat stiffly.  
  
'Prince Legolas,' his slight acknowledging bow - no more than the inclination of his head - was mocking yet oddly formal. 'If you will, I will guide you back to your friends. These woods can be perilous, particularly at this time, and not just because of my brothers.'  
  
His comment bemused me. If I had not known better I would have thought he was making a play at humour. Nonsense, I told myself, this Elf does not know what amusement is. 'Wait,' I reached out and caught his sleeve. The woollen material was rough against my fingertips. 'Don't you want to know why I was looking for you?'  
  
He looked at me expressionlessly. 'Why should I ask you that when you do not even know yourself?' he asked quietly.  
  
His eyes. they were sad, I realised. His manner - so self-assured - was not as such because he was as arrogant as he appeared, but because he held himself so tightly wound up under iron-strong control. I wondered what could make such an Elf hide himself behind so many layers he knew others would loathe him for, and what he thought would happen to him were he to relax even but for a moment.  
  
'You are right,' I said, dropping my hand from his sleeve and looking down at the leaf litter that was strewn across the ground beneath our feet. 'I do not know. I did not even realise I was seeking you out until I found you.'  
  
'Come, I must take you back to the city,' he said, turning away. I hesitated a moment, before following him slowly.  
  
We walked in silence back in the direction I had come from, until the faint lights of the fair city of Caras Galadhon in the distance began to break up the shadows amongst the trees. Darkness soon gave way to the partial light of night in the Elven city. 'I will leave you here. Please, I do ask you remain with the rest of your companions for the rest of this night. My brothers will not leave off so quickly if they find you wandering again. Go to your friends - they will help ease your pain. I cannot.'  
  
I started at his words, glancing at him quickly. This was far from the arrogance I had expected from him. I had thought he would brush me off at the boundary to the city. Then what he had actually said registered. 'I - I was not going to ask you-' I faltered. On the walk back to the city the though *had* risen, unbidden, in my mind to ask for his help in relieving myself of the troubles and pain that plagued me. That showed indisputably how troubled I was - if I considered seeking help from the one Elf I disliked most, I truly was in a troubled state of mind.  
  
He placed one slender hand on my shoulder. There was a deep sympathy in his gaze that seemed peculiar coming from him. 'Find someone who is pure and unburdened. They will help you with what you need.'  
  
I raised my hand and placed it over his. 'Who is there to help you? Where is the one who takes *your* pain away?' I whispered. I didn't know what it was that bade me speak then, all I knew was that I couldn't hold my tongue.  
  
His face grew shadowed and he looked away, loosening his hand from my grasp. 'That is no concern of yours. Go. please.' I lingered, unwilling to leave. Never mind the fact that I didn't like him. *This* was not the Elf that I disliked. He was arrogance personified. No, *this* was a completely different Elf.  
  
'Go!' he cried when he saw I failed to move. Almost immediately he seemed to cave in upon himself, his proud shoulders drooping, his hands forming into loose fists as he sighed. 'I am sorry, Legolas. if you were wise, you would leave me.'  
  
'I want - I want to help you,' I said softly, stepping forward. It was true. I wanted to know what it was that held his soul in so much pain. I reached out and touched his bowed face, silken strands of silvery-golden hair caressing my fingers.  
  
His eyes slipped close and he seemed to lean into my light touch. 'You cannot help me,' he sighed. 'There is no one who can help me.'  
  
I stepped closer, reaching out with my other hand so I touch both of his cheeks, tilting his face up. He had a haunted, defeated light in his eyes, eyes that spilt glimmering tears down pallid cheeks. 'I can try,' I murmured, before leaning forward to cover the small distance between our lips. I do not know what it was that possessed me to kiss Haldir. Maybe it was that glimmer of vulnerability from him that made him seem so much more a living, breathing, *feeling* Elf, as opposed to the stern, proud veneer of a fearless guardian of Lórien, I didn't really know. All I knew was that at that one, brief moment we connected in a way that I had never connected with another Elf, much less the most arrogant-seeming and to me most personally repulsive of the Galadhrim. Oh, not repulsive physically, of course not, but in all else.  
  
His skin was smooth and damp with tears. He seemed to burn with a strange flame within, his skin searing to the touch, his lips like fire. As soon as my lips touched his I could feel the pain and fear he felt. I did not know where his pain came from, nor could I see any specifics as to what caused the terror I could taste simmering in him just beneath the surface. All I knew was that in comparison to this, my grief for Mithrandir seemed to pale. Not to insignificance, just less intensity. I could not for the life of me see how he could function with this pain and dread festering inside of him.  
  
For what seemed like a long moment he was unresponsive to my kiss, to what I knew I gave as soon as I kissed him - the offer of my own body to use as he would to cleanse his soul - when suddenly he relaxed and I felt the faint pressure of his fingertips lightly grasping my clothing. He sighed and pulled me closer, one fine hand twining through the hair at the back of my neck, tilting my head slightly, just enough to allow him to kiss me deeper. Almost tentatively his arms circled me. I buried my face against the warm skin of his neck, inhaling his sweet woodland scent as I returned his embrace. I could feel his body trembling like a leaf. Once more he sought out my lips, delicate and desperate, but with undeniable passion.  
  
I clung to him, pressing again his body. Thick fabric hampered my searching hands as I fumbled with his belt. I longed to see if his body was as silky sweet as the touch of his lips, his skin under my fingers.  
  
Suddenly his hands were pushing mine away, pushing *me* away. I pulled back, panting lightly as I stared at him, feeling hurt by his rejection when he had seemed to want this - me - as much as I wanted him. 'No. don't - we can't-' he stumbled over the words, his voice thick. He was breathing deeply and his head was bowed, his face once more concealed by the curtain of his hair.  
  
'Why not?' I pressed. 'I offer myself to you - take of me this gift I offer you!' Lust mingled with hurt roughened my voice.  
  
He slowly raised his head, his face expressionless. I could see by the tenseness around his mouth that such a façade of indifference was not easily come by. 'Why do you offer yourself like this? Do not think I do not know how much you dislike me, Legolas of Mirkwood.'  
  
'"Why?"' I echoed him, my head tilted to the side. 'When we kissed I could taste your pain. I could feel it! I want to help you - I want to take it away from you.'  
  
Distress twisted his features for a brief moment before he closed his eyes and his face once more smoothed of all expression. 'You tasted my pain? That is merely unfortunate, nothing more. As I told you, there is naught you can do to help me. And you seem to forget that what may pass one way may also pass the other. You may have been able to "taste my pain" as you so aptly put it, but remember, Prince Legolas, I also know yours. I know more of you than you would think possible.'  
  
'Oh?' I wanted to sound challenging, but was afeared of what he had picked up of me during our brief moment of mutual passion. I had burdensome secrets I didn't wish to share.  
  
'Indeed. You grieve heavily for Mithrandir. you loved the old man profoundly, and his death weighs heavy on you. But it is not just because of his loss, is it? Oh no, you carry a heavier burden than that. You carry the burden of guilt.' He gave me an arrogantly knowing look, and at that split second I recalled just why I loathed him.  
  
And now my aversion had deepened. He knew my guilt and he would use it against me. 'You feel guilt-ridden that you could not save Gandalf the Grey, and you shiver with shame when you remember your reaction to the appearance of the Balrog. "Ai! Ai! A Balrog! A Balrog is come!" you said.' As he spoke the selfsame words I had uttered under Caradhras in the mines of Moria I felt humiliation burn my cheeks. That he could pull those words from my memory - words I had so desperately wished I could forget even as I voiced them in terror - so easily and not only that but use them against me stirred my anger.  
  
'It was the Balrog that drove the Galadhrim deeper into the forests of Lórien!' I cried. 'You cannot say that you would stand unswayed and free of fear when faced with a creature of fire and shadow such as the Balrog!'  
  
'Did I once say I could, Prince Legolas?' he mocked me. 'I was merely telling you what *I* learnt of *you* when - when we kissed.'  
  
His hesitation caught me and I looked at him sharply. His eyelids fluttered ever so briefly as he blinked, and a spasm crossed his face. 'This is not you, Haldir. All this arrogance and - and childlike posturing. You hide behind the façade of pride and indifference that whatever pain it is you hold in here,' I lightly touched my fingertips to the spot on his chest over his heart, 'gives you.'  
  
'You lie,' he said flatly, and I dropped my hand before he had the chance to slap it down.  
  
'Do I?' I could sense now that I was once more regaining the confidence that had been dealt such a swift and painful blow by his revelation. 'The Elf you wish people to know you as would not have guided me so easily back to the city. He would not have urged me to find someone "pure and unburdened" to help purge my grief. That Elf would not weep for being helpless, nor would he respond to a simple kiss with such passion. You are a fraud, Haldir of Lórien!'  
  
Stung, he recoiled from my words. He reached out and grasped the front of my tunic, jerking me forward so he could glare at me with blazing eyes, our faces bare inches apart. 'Though I risk retribution from your father for laying my hands upon you in anger, Prince Legolas, son of Thranduil, I will *not* be taunted by one such as you! I said what I said and did what I did for it was what I deemed appropriate at the time!'  
  
'Appropriate at the time?' It was my turn to mock. 'But you wanted me just then, I *know* you did!' I said fiercely. 'It was not merely what you "deemed" appropriate.' I would not back down from him. I could not, even if I wanted to.  
  
'You are a fool Elf, throwing yourself at me like you are no better than a human whore!' he spat. 'Is that what you want me to think of you as - a child of royalty masquerading as a whore?'  
  
His words stung me. I am not proud of what I did then, raising my hand against one of my kinfolk, but he had provoked the temper none of my companions - bar Aragorn - realised my mild mannered exterior concealed. My hand slapping against his skin resounded in the night dark wood, cutting through the whisper of wind through the bare branches of the mallorn trees and over the faint burble of water along one of the small creeks that traversed the woods of Lórien. Haldir's head snapped around to the side and he froze, his eyes closed, before he slowly released my tunic.  
  
My eyes were wide and the offending hand that had been raised against him was cupped over my mouth when he turned to look at me, and when he opened his eyes they were dazed with shock. I could see the darker mark bloom on his cheek as blood rushed to fill the imprint of my hand on his cheek. He raised one of his own hands to touch the skin where I had slapped him.  
  
'I did not mean-' I started, but broke off when he took a half-step back, his expression dismayed. 'Haldir-'  
  
'You!' he whispered. 'It was you!'  
  
I blinked. 'I - I do not understand. What was. me?'  
  
He just shook his head and continued to retreat. 'I have to leave. Go back to your companions and come after me no more!' said Haldir sternly. Once more he touched his face where I had struck him, before melting back into the darkness beneath the trees.  
  
'Haldir, wait-' I stepped forward to follow him, my hand raised, before I faltered. No, I would not follow him. I could not. Not now.  
  
I bowed my head. I should not have struck him like that - I, who had accused *him* of acting childlike, resorting to childish blows like I was still a youngling playing with my companions in the woods of Northern Mirkwood! Fool Elf I was indeed, though I was no whore.  
  
Turning, I followed the path Haldir had indicated that lead back into the heart of Caras Galadhon and to the pavilion the Elves had erected for my companions and I to stay at during our sojourn in the heart of all Elvendom on Middle-earth. Upon my arrival back at the site, I saw my companions sleeping. The young hobbits were all bundled up in their blankets, snoring softly, although Pippin seemed to be in the grip of some sort of nightmare.  
  
I frowned.  
  
Normally so carefree and, yes, naïve, the hobbit had changed in the short time since the fall of Mithrandir into shadow in the mines of Moria. He blamed himself for Gandalf's fall and though he hadn't said anything, it was plain to me to see. He obviously felt that had he not dropped that rock down the well in one of the caverns then it was quite likely that the Fellowship would have made it through the mines unscathed. Yet who really knew what might have happened in that darkness had events not progressed the way they did.  
  
It was entirely possible that the Balrog - a shiver rippled up my spine at the mere thought of it - would still have pursued us, and Gandalf would still have fallen into darkness. No one could second guess what would have happened. Even as I watched the hobbit he seemed to settle, sighing and sinking into deeper sleep. I knew I should rest, but tiredness had long since fled my bones. Instead I sank down onto the soft blankets provided by the Galadhrim, leant back against the bole of a mallorn tree and watched over my companions' rest.  
  
tbc 


	3. Part 2

The Requiem for a Dream Trilogy  
Lothlórien  
Part 2  
  
The next day dawned pure and clear, the Golden woods of Lothlórien lying untouched by the bitter cold of winter of Middle-earth. At some stage during my vigil I had drifted into the land of dreams, and now sat thinking of what I had witnessed in my unsought foray, a sense of unease and what almost seemed to be fear coursing through my veins. What I had seen there disturbed me greatly. I had seen two of my companions, Aragorn and Gimli the dwarf, in the dream and I had also seen myself as if I was viewing the dream through someone else's eyes.  
  
(.a sword angling down towards us, wielded by an orc. We bring our sword up and block the creatures downwards slash, pushing it back with every ounce of our spent strength we can muster.)  
  
I closed my eyes for a moment and pushed the image away. I had no idea who these visions came from, and why they should depict a battle I knew I and my companions had taken no part in.  
  
'Legolas?' It was Aragorn who spoke. He sank down next to me, also leaning against the mallorn I reclined against. 'How are you feeling this morning?'  
  
I glanced at him. Had he some knowledge of what I had witnessed in my dreams? As I looked at him it seemed that he was not all he appeared. For a moment I could have sworn that he was stained with dirt and blood and battle. I blinked and the impression was gone. Or maybe it was that he knew of my altercation with Haldir?  
  
'I am fine,' I responded somewhat stiffly.  
  
He gave me a slightly reproving smile. 'I only ask after your welfare for I know you bear great distress at Gandalf's passing.'  
  
His words evoked a feeling of shame in me - shame for what had happened the previous night with the Elf warrior and again for my inability to act in the face of terror and defend Mithrandir. 'I am coping,' I said softly, looking down at my clasped hands.  
  
He placed his hands over mine in a comforting gesture. 'I am always here for you, mellon nîn. You do know that.'  
  
'Yes, I do, Aragorn, and for that I am grateful. Though perhaps,' I hesitated, 'I might spend time here in Caras Galadhon amongst my kinfolk for I have never visited the home of the Elves here before. if this is permitted, of course?'  
  
He smiled and inclined his head. 'Of course! You do not have to ask permission from me, Legolas, to visit with your kinfolk!' said Aragorn. 'I do not know how long we will linger here, but until the time we depart you are free to come and go as you will. I have no doubt that it will do you well to be amongst your own people.'  
  
I thought of Haldir and the way he had used my own guilt against me and for a second doubted that I would do well - particularly if they were anything like him. But I did not have to think of him - nay, I need not even need to see him again, for no doubt he would return to the fences of the North and trouble me no more. And as equally as that thought comforted me, part of me also rued his leaving as well. I wanted to give him my sincere apologies for striking him last night. But even more than that, even more base in emotion, I yearned to touch his skin again. I closed my eyes and shuddered. No, he would not welcome that. I knew as much from his cruelty towards me last night.  
  
'Legolas?'  
  
I opened my eyes and smiled at Aragorn with emotion I didn't feel. 'I *am* well, Aragorn, do not worry about me.' I gestured to the hobbits, who were huddled around a small table loaded with food. 'See to the hobbits - *they* need your strength. Especially Pippin - I fear he still bears great guilt.'  
  
Aragorn squeezed my shoulder comfortingly. 'You are wise, my friend,' he said, before rising. I nodded in acknowledgement as I rose to my feet, keen to roam the ancient home of all Elvendom now that the embargo of the Lady of the Woods was over with the rising of the sun. Stepping out from under the woven roof of the pavilion I looked up at the soaring branches of the mallorn, golden leaves shivering in the early morning light. Many flets were visible from the ground, linked by rope ladders and graceful, gently swaying bridges. It was such a simple act, stepping from under a roof, even one as flimsy as the material of the pavilion, and out beneath the shimmering living canopy of leaves, yet I felt heartened by that merest action. My love for all growing things would always be my saviour even when my heart was at its darkest.  
  
I walked for a long while, the breeze on my face as I stared in wonderment up at the true city of Caras Galadhon. Words could not express the feelings that coursed through my veins - the incredible sense of being *home* amongst my own. I nimbly climbed up one of the rope ladders to a broad talan. As with all of Elven-kind, I felt equally at home in the trees as on the ground. The Lórien elves I met as I explored from tree to tree all greeted me with equal cordiality, some who knew who I was asked after my father, others welcomed me as one of their northern kinfolk to guest with them during my stay.  
  
The homes in the trees of the Lórien Elves were light, airy and open and very few sought any kind of absolute privacy as was commonplace with Men and other the races of Middle-earth. Curiosity was my vice - it always had been - so it was no wonder when I stumbled upon a place I should not be.  
  
It was one of the smaller homes in the trees and I peered around the doorframe, curious as to how the living quarters high in the trees of Caras Galadhon compared to that I had witnessed in Imladris and those in my own home in Northern Mirkwood. The house itself was a single room, barer than any other home I had been invited into that morning. All that the small room contained was a press for clothing, some personal items, a small collection of weapons - a Galadhrim bow, a quiver of arrows, a sword and some daggers - and a bed. I let out a small gasp when I saw the quarters I peeked into surreptitiously were occupied - and more to the point, who they were occupied by.  
  
Haldir lay upon the pallet there, swathed in blankets. He was asleep, his wide blue eyes betraying the glaze of one who roams the world of dreams, and his silvery hair, so immaculate the previous evening, was dishevelled. I blinked and felt colour stain my cheeks as my gaze lingered on the visible, pale golden skin of his chest. Who was I to look at him with even the vestige of lust - he was the most insufferable Elf I knew! So how then could I find him desirable? Suddenly he shuddered, his hand going to his side. Almost instantaneously I felt a sharp pain of my own, clutching at my own side as if I had been struck.  
  
(.the order has gone out to retreat, and as we call to what was left of our company to fall back, our guard falters but for a moment against two adversaries as we fumble to block the sword of one with our own blade. Yet it is all that is needed for the other Urak-hai that is upon us to slip his blade through our guard, the imperfectly crafted metal punching through the armour of our side in an explosion of pain.)  
  
Haldir blinked and awoke with a sharp intake of breath. I stared at him with wide eyes, my hand still rubbing my side as the pain faded as to that of a faintly remembered wound after many a year has passed. He let out a relieved sigh, his eyes closing for a moment before he opened them, focussing on me. His own gaze widened when he recognised me, and pushed himself up into a sitting position. 'What are you-' his voice trailed off with a groan. He winced, his hand going to his forehead.  
  
Almost instantly I was at his side, kneeling by the low pallet and picking up the cup that stood on the floor by the bed, pressing it into his hand. Perhaps foolishly I had assumed it to hold water. 'Your compassion commends you,' he said dryly before he took the cup from my hand and went to drink. Almost instantly he grimaced. 'Do you normally recommend the cause for the cure, Prince Legolas?' he asked mockingly, before shrugging and downing the contents of the cup in a single gulp.  
  
I stared at him. 'It was not water?'  
  
'No.' He fumbled over the side and picked up a depleted wineskin. 'It was definitely was not water. To the contrary, it was the finest wine made by the best wine-makers of our kind.'  
  
'Then you need no more!' I scolded, taking both the cup and the skin from his hands.  
  
He looked at me, affronted. 'Do you perhaps forget whose abode you are in - where you came in uninvited? I shall drink what I want, when I want regardless of what *you* think!' When he reached for the cup and skin again I held them out of his reach. 'Why are you here? Did you not get what you wanted to get from me last night?' His eyes narrowed as he looked at me. It seemed almost as if he looked through me. 'No. you did not. You still hold your pain close to you like a child.'  
  
I sat back on my heels. He was still as offensive as ever! It also annoyed me immensely that he could tell with a simple look whether I was still grieving or not. 'It was by accident that I stumbled upon your home, Haldir of Lórien,' I said stiffly. 'I shall leave.' As much as I wanted answers for that strange instant we had appear to live only moments ago, and for his accusations the previous eve, I could not bear his company a moment more if he was going to taunt me once more. I drew myself up to leave.  
  
'No, wait'- he reached out and snared my wrist in one slender hand. I could feel the calluses on his fingers from bow and harp-string. He looked up at me, his free hand raking his hair out of his eyes. 'I am sorry, Legolas. I- I do not mean to antagonise you.'  
  
'But you do,' I retorted, trying to jerk my hand from his grasp. His fingers tightened. I stood and glared at his hand and then him for a moment, before he suddenly jerked on my wrist, startling me off balance. I fell forward onto my hands and knees on the bed, my eyes widening with outrage. How dare he lay his hands on me like that! I looked up at him, ready to let him feel the rough side of my tongue when I realise that he was laughing at me. Oh, not visibly, but inside he was I was sure, as evidenced by the slightest curve of his lips and the sparkle in his eyes. His humour incensed me. 'Do not take me for a fool, Haldir of Lórien!' I snarled. 'When I saw this was your home I merely wished to apologise for striking you last night - not to be treated with like I am some innocent child to entertain you!'  
  
Once again my anger bubbled up irrationally in me. There was something about him that roused my temper like no other - twice in less than half a day I was blindly furious at him. I moved to push myself off the bed, but once more found myself restrained by his hand around my wrist. He did not grip me tightly, just firmly enough that I could not break free without hurting myself, and I was too proud to stoop to trying to pry his fingers off with my free hand. I looked pointedly at his hand around my wrist. He squeezed my wrist tightly for a moment, hard enough that I felt a brief arrow of pain shoot up my arm.  
  
'I do not take you for a fool, not do I treat you as a child, Prince Legolas,' he said coldly, his flash of good humour fleeing. 'There was no need for you to come in here and apologise. Truth be told,' he eyes narrowed and a mask of indifference settled over his handsome features, 'I had completely forgotten about last night.' He gave a dismissive one- shouldered shrug.  
  
It was such a blatant lie that I stared at him in disbelief. 'You expect me to believe that?' I said incredulously.  
  
He dropped my wrist. 'You may believe what you want - I do not tell you what to or what not to believe in. but as far as I am concerned, last night never happened.'  
  
'Last night never happened?' I echoed, rubbing where his grip has bruised my flesh. 'You wish to pretend that I did not strike you, that - that you did not accuse me of acting like a *whore*?' There was a brief glimmer in his eyes when I mentioned that, but he did not speak. 'You wish to pretend that we did not kiss-'  
  
'You kissed me,' he interrupted.  
  
I looked at him with a raised eyebrow. 'I thought you said last night never happened for you? If that was the case, then how do you remember that?'  
  
It was his turn to glare at me. It was not a big victory, but a victory nonetheless, and it seemed that small victories were all I could win against him. 'You kissed me,' was all he could say in a sullen reply.  
  
'At first, maybe, yes,' I conceded, 'but after that you were as involved as I.'  
  
His gaze grew calculated. 'Only because I thought that if I gave you what you wanted you would leave me alone.'  
  
I hissed as that verbal spar landed, and a flicker of what could only be satisfaction lit up his eyes for a brief moment. It struck me then that he really *was* a cruel Elf! What he said and what he did appeared to be purely motivated by the need to wound me. And every time he did that it roused my temper - normally on such a long fuse - and I in turn responded to him, thus making me no better that he. And going on in this way it appeared we would not stop until we had cut each other into shreds with venomous words.  
  
'Why do you do this?' I asked, frustrated. 'Do you derive some sort of perverse pleasure from angering me?'  
  
His eyes opened wide at my words, and I could not be certain whether the innocence he projected was feigned or not. 'Prince Legolas,' he protested, 'how can you say such a thing? If I anger you it is not my intention, I promise you that, and surely you cannot truly believe I would do it *deliberately* and obtain pleasure from it?' He sounded so dismayed it would be easy to believe him. But I remembered the gleam in his eye and reserved my judgement. He was not like the earth, this Elf, steady and reliable, no - he was more like water. beautiful, cool and treacherous. I would do well to remember that.  
  
'I do not know what game you play with me and whether you truly mean to anger me or not, but it is what you do,' I said softly. 'I apologise for striking you last night and invading your home this morning. I shall go now.' With that I pushed myself to my feet, nodded once to him and turned for the door. I was about to step out onto one of the delicate walkways leading from his talan when I heard him speak.  
  
'Legolas, wait, please.'  
  
I stopped, my back to the talan.  
  
(.we feel a surge of pride in our chest as we look upon the ranks of our kinfolk arrayed before us, so strong and defiant.)  
  
I squeezed my eyes closed for a moment, before shaking the image away. I did not know where these images came from, and longed desperately to talk them over with the fallen Mithrandir. He was the one person who would have been able to explain to me where they were coming from.  
  
'Legolas?' He spoke so softly, a shiver rippled up my spine like he had actually touched me. There was a fleeting edge of pain to his voice like had present the previous night when he had revealed his weakness to me. 'You do not have to leave.'  
  
I turned hesitantly. He sat up in the bed, picking aimlessly at the cover over his legs. A tangle of hair shadowed his face as he looked away from me, his gaze sliding from mine to stare vacantly at the wall. Again I found myself drinking in his beauty. He was not perfect, oh no, with scars marring his frame evidence of his lifelong task of guarding the borders of Lórien from intruders. But he was still beautiful, and to me it was these scars that added to his attractiveness, flawing him physically in the only way his duty could.  
  
I swallowed. He radiated that peculiar vulnerability again and it tugged at my heart. 'Why should I stay?' I asked gently. 'There is nothing for me here.'  
  
'I do not want to hurt you,' he whispered, wrapping his arms around himself and shivering, 'Valar forbid that I should ever do that intentionally. I just.' he hesitated. 'I fear you.'  
  
'You. fear me?' Almost instantly I was at his side, sinking onto the bed. I did not reach out to touch him but instead leant forward on my hands, staring into his distant face. It was almost as if his mind was elsewhere, leaving me these tantalising whispers of his soul to converse with.  
  
'Aye.' His eyes slipped closed and he swayed.  
  
I placed my hands on his shoulders, holding him upright. 'Why do you fear me, Haldir of Lórien? What have I done to warrant this?'  
  
His bare skin was warm and smooth under my hands - just as I remembered. As soon as I touched him I felt a sharp lance of lust spear through my gut. I gasped, and at that same moment his eyes shot open, his hands flying up to grasp my wrists, dragging my hands away from him. 'I fear you for what you make me feel for you! You make me lust for you, and this need makes me *weak*. It is a terrible thing!' he cried, releasing my wrists and dropping his face into his hands.  
  
I coaxed his hands away from his face, alarmed by both the desperate terror behind his revelation and the fact that as soon as I touched him again I once more felt that stab of burning need. 'Desire is not such a terrible thing, Haldir,' I said softly. Was this why he was trying to hurt me? To drive me away from him and in doing so, somehow mitigate his lust? 'Is this what you meant when you said that. that it was *me*, last night?'  
  
He blinked at me, his face anguished. 'Yes - no. I - I don't know. I don't know.' A single tear coursed down his cheek from his glossy eyes. 'When you stuck me last night - it was just like in my dream. but I did not know who it was who made me fear like this.' his voice trailed off, and once more his gaze skipped away from mine.  
  
I swiped the tear away with my thumb. Again. lust. Yet. it was not my own. Was I experiencing what he felt? If so, how could this be? How could I feel his emotions when I merely touched his skin? And why didn't I feel it when he touched me? The questions churned around in my head.  
  
'Why do you fear desiring me?' I finally voiced. Of all things, that was what puzzled me the most. To me there was nothing more natural and delightful than indulging in physical pleasure with someone you desired - it was not something to be feared. it was something to be revered!  
  
He finally met and held my gaze. 'Lust distracts me from my duties. In this time of turmoil, there is nothing worse. I cannot afford to be distracted from my duty - Lórien will suffer the consequences of my folly!' he said earnestly, yet not avoiding my touch. I cupped his cheek in my hand, noting how the intensity of emotion I felt seemed to temper somewhat with constant contact. He leant into my touch, his own hand reaching out hesitantly, almost as if he did not know what he was doing, to slide over my woollen- clad knee.  
  
I moistened my lips, my heart pounding in my throat as I leant further forward. I could feel the warmth of his breath on my mouth, the heat of his hand on my leg as his fingers flexed, kneading the flesh lightly. Then our lips met.  
  
If I had thought the kiss we had shared the previous night had been surprising, it was nothing compared to the way this time - so loaded with tension borne of the brief moments of anger we had shared - felt. Longing hit me like a physical blow to the chest and I moaned softly. I felt his fingers grasping at my tunic, tugging me closer.  
  
'What, pray tell, is going on, Haldir?' A sharp, familiar voice said from in the direction of the doorway.  
  
tbc 


End file.
